


Rusty Air

by MonoNight



Category: Ferry (music composer), Parties are for Losers
Genre: Gen, PAFL spoilers, parties are for losers spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-24
Updated: 2019-10-24
Packaged: 2021-01-02 15:31:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21163952
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MonoNight/pseuds/MonoNight
Summary: This is what happened on a fateful day in The Zone. [Spoilers for The Mill.]





	Rusty Air

The way time passed was a cosmic joke.

Some days, it felt like a picture of snow, suspended in air- weightless, ethereal, unmoving. Other days, it pounded against everyone like a waterfall- relentless, choking, too fast to bear.

The day Nikita died was the latter.

It happened in snapshots, brief dissections of time before the shot rang out. The way Nikita's relaxed expression warped to one of horror. The way a burn flashed across Yura's cheek, warmth on him. The bright red of his blood, soaking through the beige of his sweater, the pinpricks of his eyes as he fell. The silence, being absorbed into the gray, windless skies above. His companions looked to him, watching numbly as he clutched at the wound. Blood seeped through his fingers. Hot, wet, coppery. Their paralysis broke.

“Stop!” Olya stepped in front, arms raised. I'm unarmed, she showed them. Her arms were spread, facing down the militia. _They weren't supposed to be here. Didn't I ensure they were kept away today? Or did someone change it without my knowledge?_ The guard stopped, recognition dawning. The gun faltered, pointing towards the ground. He blinked as if coming out of a reverie.

“Orlova?” The gun dropped- _he_ dropped. A spray of red seemed to hang in the air before the guard's body dropped. Thundering footsteps came from around the corner as his body fell. Smoke and gunpowder hung heavy in the air. Yura's face was blank with horror as she turned to look at him, realizing what happened as his eyes strayed down to the corpse. Nikita's labored breathing became wet, blood trickling from his lips, curving over his chin and joining. He was still trying to sit up, dazed as he looked down at his blood-soaked hand. He slowly laid back down, staring up at the sky. What a place... Helicopters hung suspended, and wires- something- hung like lace between buildings. Crumbling towers swayed and creaked in the windless air, sending debris down to the ground once in a blue moon. It was gray, stagnant, a place that kept Stalkers on edge as they traveled through. How many failed to come out? ...There would be one more among their number. 

“Don't move!” The militia converged, guns trained on the two survivors. Yura moved back, dropping his weapon. He made to move towards the dying man, looking to do something, no matter how insignificant- he couldn't just stand by while he died, he- This was supposed to be easy. Simple. Just get the battery and split. He had followed Sergei's teachings to the T, and Nikita was experienced, as was Olya. How could they be found out? A hammer cocked was his warning. All Stalkers knew that sometimes, the price for entry was their life. There would be no other warning before the guard struck.

“I... Let me help him.” His voice sounded foreign to himself, and Olya shook her head minutely.

“We don't need two lost today.” She glanced back to him, watching his breathing grow more and more labored. “They never let Stalkers assist the wounded, from what I've heard.” _You and I didn't get along well... But I'm sorry this happened._ She wished they could be at his side to ease his last moments, swiftly approaching on rotting black wings. 

“You knew what you were risking,” one of the soldiers agreed brusquely. “Pyotr.” He nodded towards the two, gun trained steadily on them. 

“Of course.” He shook his head briskly, as if snapping himself out of his thoughts with a brief glance at the dead man, wearing a diadem of crimson droplets. The Stalkers kept their eyes on Nikita, watching him let out one final breath before settling with glazed eyes. They didn't look away even as their arms were wrenched behind their backs and secured, the snapshot searing itself into their memories.

Part of them was lost to the uncaring Zone that day.


End file.
